you (and i) were just meant to be
by potahtopotato
Summary: Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood fluff.
1. Chapter 1

He's not expecting Oliver to be there. He walks through the doorway to the kitchen of the Burrow and freezes, hand on the knob. What is Oliver Wood, internationally acclaimed Quidditch player (and, perhaps more pertinently, Percy's childhood crush) doing in his parents' tiny, overstuffed kitchen on a Sunday afternoon?

Percy watches as Oliver looks up from his plate and doesn't miss the way the latter's eyes widen slightly.

"Um, Percy," he says. "I didn't—I mean, it's been what, four years?"

The rest of the Weasleys follow Oliver's eyes to the awkward figure at the door. "Five, I think," Percy says, and is saved from further conversation by Mrs. Weasley, who exclaims loudly and hurries to pull out a chair and set another plate for him. The rest of his family returns to their conversations as Percy's mother fusses over him.

"I didn't know you were coming, dear," she says as she loads Percy's plate up (as though he's not an adult, as though he can't do it himself), "we would've waited to eat."

"I wasn't planning to ," Percy says as he sits down. "I just finished a project earlier than I expected, and, well..." He doesn't say that he had nowhere else to go; the implication is clear enough as it is.

Percy concentrates on his food, which is, at least, delicious as usual. If he has his mouth stuffed throughout the whole meal, he won't be able to answer questions, especially those about the inevitable—

"I keep telling you, you need to find someone to settle down with," Mrs. Weasley says as she pours herself more juice a few minutes later. Percy sighs, then cringes as he remembers Oliver, who's bound to notice this thread of discussion if it continues much longer, as it is wont to do.

Percy wants to yell at his mother to leave him alone, but instead he finishes chewing his peas and shakes his head. "I'm fine, Mum, really," he says, hoping that she will take the hint. She doesn't, of course, because she's Molly Weasley and you don't raise seven kids by taking hints.

"Even Ginny's getting married soon," she tells Percy (as though he doesn't know, as though he hadn't felt a wave of relief so intense he'd had to sit down when he'd gotten the invitation, as though he hadn't spent an hour staring at the _plus one_ written in embossed ink).

Percy shrugs. "I don't have time for a relationship," he says, and is uncomfortably aware of Oliver's eyes on him.

"Stuff and nonsense," Molly says. "Oliver here plays Quidditch for England, and he has time to date, doesn't he?"

Percy chokes. As far as he knows, none of his other siblings are gay, and Ginny is engaged to be married next month, but he could be wrong. For the first time, he considers the option that Oliver might not be here as a friend. "I hadn't realized you were here with a date," he says to Oliver, a very cold pit settling in his stomach.

Oliver tilts his head. "A date?"

"Are you not here with someone?" Percy asks. "Apologies, I assumed based on what Mum just said..."

"Ah, no, I'm not here with anyone. Mrs. Weasley—-"

"Molly," Mrs. Weasley interrupts. "Call me molly."

"Right, molly—"

"What Oliver's trying to say is he's supposedly got a boyfriend," George says, jumping in. "We all think he just made him up so ginny and I would stop setting him up with people."

"Oh."

"Disappointed, Perce?" George asks, grinning at him.

"Not at all. Merely surprised that he managed to do what I've never been able to and get you to stop nagging him." Percy is proud of himself for how calm his voice sounds.

"Well," Ginny says from across the table, "we haven't stopped meddling, exactly, we're just not setting him up with people anymore. We've been trying to figure out who it is. We know it's not a Quidditch player, and it's definitely a guy, and he's not too far from Oliver's age. I'm not sure if he went to Hogwarts, though, did you get that out of him yet?" The question is directed at George, who shakes his head.

"Awfully secretive, he is. makes you wonder if maybe there's something about this boyfriend of his he doesn't want the public to know."

Oliver looks distinctly uncomfortable, and Percy would be sympathetic if he wasn't so glad to be out of the spotlight. "Not the public," Oliver says, "just you lot."

"Oh?" George's eyebrows are climbing ever-higher, and he looks dangerously thoughtful.

"Well," Ginny asks, "is he at least good-looking? You know, tall and dark and handsome?"

"Er," Oliver says, blushing, and Percy is suddenly very interested in hearing what he has to say. "I mean, he's not exactly... classically handsome, but I like him well enough."

Ginny groans. "That's so vague! Is he ugly or something?"

Percy leans forward a bit. "Yes, is he?"

"No! And furthermore, let's go play Quidditch while it's still sunny out, and I can crush you all so badly you forget about my love life, which was none of your business to begin with."

Percy happens to be of the opinion that Oliver's love life is very much his business indeed, but the word "Quidditch" has the same effect on most Weasleys that waving a bone has on a dog. He sighs as most of his siblings file out and decides to stay inside with his father rather than watching the game.

They talk mostly politics: Percy is almost certain there's a promotion coming his way, and is eager to hear what Mr. Weasley has found out through the infamous Ministry grapevine.

The game doesn't last long; soon enough they hear loud shouting from outside, and a few minutes later the Quidditch players enter the house. Oliver's team has won, and the sight of him sweaty, windswept, and glowing does funny things to Percy's insides, which he chooses to ignore in favor of studiously not looking at him.

It's lucky, then, that the conversation has steered safely away from romance and onto Hermione's recent campaigns for House Elves and the like, which most of the Weasleys (Percy included) find daft. Since neither she nor Ron are present, however, Percy is forced to take the pro side, which he argues with surprising zeal.

And if he notices Oliver looking at him for just slightly too long as he drinks his tea? Percy puts these thoughts safely out of his mind, at least for the time being. He has other things occupying his brain at the moment, things far more important than whether or not Oliver Wood wants to snog him (he'll know the answer to that question soon enough).

"Right, then," Oliver says when it is half past seven and the pudding is all gone. "I think I'll get going. Quidditch practice tomorrow and all."

He rises, and Percy screws up his courage. _Gryffindor_ , he reminds himself, _I'm a_ _Gryffindor_.

"Oliver?" he asks, meeting his gaze for the first time all evening. "Could you pick up some eggs on the way home, we've run out."

Oliver freezes, then nods and smiles slightly. "Sure," he says, leaning over to kiss Percy— it's just a peck, but a definite hint of what's coming tonight. "See you soon."

Percy stubbornly watches his form as he makes his way into the living room and Disapparates before turning around to face the rest of his family, all of whom have similarly stunned looks on their faces. He hopes, vainly, that he's not bright red.

First to recover is Charlie (who is home for a few weeks to help with the wedding). "you've been dating Oliver wood for the past three years?" he asks, face torn between amazement and pride. "Damn, Percy, you should've told me it was him; I thought for years it was Draco Malfoy or something."

It is then that George lets out a horrified shriek. "You have a boyfriend? Since when— since when does _Percy_ have a boyfriend?"

The resulting commotion is not quite loud enough to cover Ginny's demands for someone to tell her why she is, apparently, the only person on the face of this earth to not have known that her own brother is gay.

Percy leans back in his seat, just the tiniest bit. It could have gone better, he figures, but it also could have gone a whole lot worse.


	2. Chapter 2

"We're not on a date, are we?"

"What?" Percy asks, jerking his head up from his plate of lasagna. "Why would we be on a date?"

"It's just- you know, two single gay guys, restaurant, Saturday evening... I'm just making sure," Oliver says. He looks supremely uncomfortable.

"No. No, we are definitely not on a date. Why would… it's not as if we, you know, went to this restaurant for a reason and got all dressed up and everything. We just went to a Quidditch game, and then we-" A realization dawns. "That does sound very date-like when you say it like that, doesn't it?"

Oliver nods.

Percy bites the inside of his cheek, then realizes what he's doing and forces himself to stop. It's a bad habit, one picked up during the war, when it seemed that all he did was pick up nervous tick after nervous tick.

He turns back to the lasagna, which at some point during the last three minutes has stopped looking at all appetizing, and hopes that this conversation will go away if he ignores it for long enough.

"I mean," Oliver says, "it could be. A date. If you wanted."

Percy forces a laugh. "Are you asking me out?"

"I think so. I'm not… I mean, you're smart and interesting and attractive and I haven't gotten laid in nearly a year, what do I have to lose?"

"Our friendship," Percy says, raising an eyebrow. "And we live in the same flat, it could be incredibly awkward."

"I'm not saying we… have to, it's just. Yes, I'm asking you out. Percy, wanna go to the Ballycastle Bats game next weekend with me?"

"Are you saying you won't go with me if I say no?" Percy's beginning to enjoy himself, just the slightest bit, which is pretty cruel of him, he knows. But he did live with Fred and George for the first eighteen years of his life, and their bad influence can never be overestimated.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yeah, alright."

"Oh, good." Oliver lets out a long breath. "And you can stop looking so amused, one of us had to say it and it's not my fault I'm twice the man you are."

Percy grins at him. "It was pretty funny, though."

"It was not funny."

"Right, right, my mistake. It was not in the least funny."

Oliver laughs. "You're kind of a prat, you know."

"Yeah, I know."


	3. Chapter 3

**Eleven Questions that Oliver Wood's Asked Percy Weasley, and One That Percy Asked Oliver**

1987

"I'm Oliver! What's your name?"

1988

"Why does it matter so much if I don't put my socks away?"

1989

"Hogwarts has House-Elves! Why won't you leave me alone?"

1990

"Merlin's tits, why aren't you asleep yet?"

1991

"Don't you get it? Harry Potter is the greatest Seeker since- well, since Charlie Weasley! How can you possibly not care?"

1992

"I heard that something happened to your little sister; is she alright?"

1993

"Who cares about the bloody NEWTs? This is our last year here, Percy, and we have to win the Quidditch Cup this year, I've got no time to study!"

1996

"Oh, you're looking for a flat too?"

1997

"D'you wanna go on a date, then?"

1998

"What now?"

1999

"Are you going to say it back or not?"

 _And one question that Percy asked Oliver:_

2000

"Will you marry me?"


	4. Chapter 4

Later, Oliver would blame it on the after-game high. They'd just won a major game against the Ballycastle Bats, and there was only one team standing between them and a complete domination of the League.

It would all be very understandable. Of course Oliver was feeling giddy and slightly ungrounded, and of course the last thing that he had wanted when going to a pub with his teammates was a reporter from the _Witch Weekly_ questioning his sexuality. He'd officially "come out" to his team and the few friends that didn't already know a few months prior, and although word had circulated and he was now getting hit on by more blokes than girls, no one really cared. Oliver Wood, reserve Keeper for a team sliding steadily downward, was hardly worth of attention. Now that Puddlemere United seemed to have a chance, however, this was changing, and Oliver couldn't say he especially appreciated it.

"Oliver! Oliver Wood!"

Damn it. He'd been only five feet from the bar, and there was nowhere he could hide. The rest of his team, save Benjy Williams, had Apparated straightaway after the game, but Oliver had taken a moment longer in the shower (because Percy hated it when he came back to the flat still smelling of sweat), and now here they were.

"Oliver, how do you feel about all the saves you made in this game?"

The reporter was dressed in light blue robes and wearing outrageously high heels of the same color, which she was currently tapping against the sidewalk as she pulled a Quick-Notes Quill out of her purse.

Oliver shot Benjy a sideways glance. "Uh… good?"

"Are you sure? You don't sound sure. Is there a reason for this uncertainty? Are you having an illicit affair with one of the players on the opposing team? Did this game cause tension for the two of you?"

"Nope, no affairs here," Oliver said, wondering why the hell he of all people was getting this sort of treatment. "But you know, I did hear some really strange rumors about Benjy here and Gloria Harper. Why don't you ask him about it?"

Oliver grinned as the other man glared at him. Benjy was used to reporters; at least, after more than five years playing professional Quidditch, he should've been. Somehow, though, Benjy was the worst of them all at handling reporters, although it was admittedly a lot of fun later to play Guess What Combination of Hexes He Used This Time To Give Her Freckles Consciousness And Bad Attitudes.

Oliver had begun to inch toward the entrance to the pub when his attention was caught by a sharp _crack_ behind him and the appearance of Percy Weasley.

"Hey," Percy said, and if the small smile he shot Oliver had certain side effects, that certainly wasn't his fault. "Oh, a reporter. Huh. I guess you're properly famous, then, now that you're going to the finals?"

"I probably won't even be playing," Oliver said. "Reserve Keeper, remember?"

"As if I could forget, with you constantly-"

"And who's this?" the reporter asked. Apparently finished with Benjy, she had turned her attention back to Oliver.

"My flatmate," Oliver said, suddenly very eager to exit this conversation, "and I think we'll be going inside right about now-"

The gleam in the reporter's eye was starting to terrify him. "Not so fast, please. I was wondering, as someone who lives with Oliver, how do you feel about his alleged homosexuality?"

"Pardon?" Percy's eyebrows climbed with alarming speed, and Oliver clenched his hand into a fist to avoid reaching for his wand. He could tell where this was going, and he could tell he wasn't going to like it.

"Oh, you know," she said, flapping a hand in the air. "He came out a while ago, but there was a bit of a scandal because he dated a girl back in Hogwarts- Katie something or other. Surely you must be aware of all of this."

Percy had been opening and closing his mouth for the past minute. "I fail to see how that is any of your business," he said finally. "He's a reserve Keeper, he's not even famous."

The reporter shook her head quickly. "Quidditch players are very popular with our readers, and Quidditch players with dubious sexualities? Even better."

"Dubious?" Benjy asked. "Have you seen the man ogling our Beaters? There is nothing dubious about his sexuality."

She rolled her eyes. "If you think the public is going to believe that, you've got another thing coming to you."

So Oliver has the perfect excuse, later, when he's explaining it all very carefully to a disbelieving Alicia Spinnet. Because, when put in a situation like that, who wouldn't say "oh, bugger off" before snogging a very surprised Percy Weasley? And when he saw the way the reporter's eyes bugged out, who wouldn't have announced that they'd been dating for almost a year now?

And obviously, in the group of paparazzi that showed up almost immediately like sharks smelling blood, Oliver couldn't have just dropped Percy's hand and told everyone that they'd never so much as gone on a date in their lives. It all made perfect sense, at the time.

* * *

When they Apparate back into their kitchen a few hours later, Percy pulls away from him as though Oliver smells like Bubotuber Pus.

"We need to talk," he says, pulling out a chair, movements slower than usual due to both the late time and the generous amount of alcohol they'd both consumed.

"Right," Oliver agrees, and sits down. He fervently wishes that he'd learned Occlumency; this would all be so much easier if he just knew what Percy was thinking.

Percy stares at the ceiling. "We should talk," he says.

Oliver nods. "Yeah."

"We shouldn't snog right now. Later, but not right now." Percy says it quickly, as though he's forcing the words out with great difficulty.

"Are you sure about that." It's not really a question.

"We're both drunk. What better time to shag, then wake up the next morning, try to pretend it never happened, and continue posing as partners for the press or some bullshit, all while letting the sexual tension build up?"

Oliver tries to absorb this. "You have a lot of siblings."

Percy nods. "I have learned from their mistakes."

"God, Perce, I fancy you."

"I'd sort of got that, what with you snogging me and all."

"Do you…" Oliver knows the answer, but he wants to hear Percy say it anyway.

"Yes, of course." Percy gets up, with visible difficulty. "Listen, I'm going to bed. I don't want our first time to be drunk, that alright?"

Of course it's alright, it's better than alright. "Tomorrow, then," he says, and struggles to lift himself off the chair. "We'll do it tomorrow."

And they do.


	5. Chapter 5

Percy is watching Oliver Wood when he should be watching the road. It's not his fault, though, is it, if the traffic is boring, and Wood is decidedly not.

They have a schedule worked out; that is, Percy knows exactly the best time to leave the house so that his route will just happen to follow Wood's jogging path. It's not stalking, Percy tells himself, if he's not going out of his way to do it. Really, he doesn't mind waking up half an hour earlier than he needs to each morning and then driving through that one intersection that he hates.

Okay, so maybe Percy's going a little bit out of his way, but he doesn't follow Wood to wherever he lives, does he, or send him creepy text messages? It's fine.

Percy swerves just in time to avoid an oncoming vehicle, and, instead of checking the rearview mirror, checks on Wood.

So he's got a celebrity crush on someone who isn't even a proper celebrity. Wood's a football player for the local team, and while Percy doesn't have the same level of obsession with the sport as the rest of his family, he is still of course aware of local teams and rankings. Wood plays on Dover's team, and though (as any Weasley would admit only under pain of death), they're not very good, the team is getting back on its feet after a long mediocre streak.

Percy knew all this even before he discovered that Wood's jogging route coincides almost exactly with the road Percy takes to his office. Percy may work as a financial consultant, but all those random sports statistics and names never seemed as applicable to his daily life as they do now.

Someone honks at him, and Percy tears his eyes away from Wood for long enough to notice that the light has turned green, and he slams down on the gas pedal.

 _Concentrate,_ Percy tells himself. A moment later: _No, not on Wood's biceps!_

Percy watches as Wood stops for a moment to take a drink of water, and so completely fails to see the red minivan barreling down the street. He looks up, but not in time to stop, and watches in horror as the other driver t

Then: pain, the crunch of metal on metal, a person shouting, cars honking, something wet and sticky, darkness.

* * *

Someone is sitting by Percy's bed when he wakes up, which isn't surprising; Percy has a family of nine eight, and if no one had spared the time to visit him in the hospital he would have been quite insulted. What is surprising is that the person in the cramped chair doesn't have bright red hair, and thus is certainly not a Weasley.

"Who are you?" Percy asks, even though of course he knows.

Wood, who has been scrolling through his phone, jumps. "You're awake! I'm Oliver Wood, I play football for Devon. You were in an accident."

"Why are you here? I didn't hit you, did I? And where is here?"

"This is the, uh, Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital, and no, you didn't hit me. I was jogging nearby when you crashed your car, and I was the person who called the ambulance. I wanted to make sure that you were alright, you didn't look too good."

Percy has no idea how to respond to that. It's only—he checks the clock on the wall across from him—ten in the morning, and he's already gotten into an accident, managed to make his first conversation with Oliver Wood incredibly embarrassing, and, worst of all, is going to be late for work.

"What about the other person?" he asks, not quite ready to sit up yet.

"It was a hit and run. I didn't get the license plate, sorry, it was a bit scary and I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Oh."

"Is it alright that I'm here?" This is clearly a question that's been on Oliver's mind. "They said they wouldn't be calling your emergency contacts since it's only a broken arm, but I, um, didn't want to—I mean, it'd be pretty shitty to wake up alone in a hospital, yeah? Except we don't know each other and this is a bit weird."

Is he _blushing?_ Percy is pretty sure that Oliver's blushing, God bless his soul.

"No, it's alright," Percy says. "I'm glad you stayed."

Oliver visibly relaxes. "Good, that's good."

Percy takes a moment to process this. His arm is broken—his right, judging by the fact that he can feel very little of it—but otherwise he appears to be fine. His family doesn't know, which means that he can make something up about falling down a flight of stairs, and also Oliver stayed with him while he was getting his cast. Things are not, apparently, too bad.

"So, where's my car?"

"Oh, _crap_."

Percy would like to retract his previous statement.

* * *

Percy's apartment building comes into sight, and he reaches automatically into his back pocket for the key, only to realize, again, that it isn't there. He'd had it in the cupholder of his car, and now, of course, it's gone, lost to the winds until Oliver manages to remember where exactly the towing people had gone with Percy's car.

Oliver stops when he sees the direction of Percy's gaze. "Is that where you live?" he asks, and Percy nods.

"It's temporary, though, I wanted to be near my parents after—well, after what happened."

Oliver doesn't ask, and Percy eternally grateful for it.

They reach the doorway, and even though Percy notices the peeling paint every day it never seems quite as bad as it does now. There's a reason why he usually meets up with friends in other places, but he couldn't exactly have done that now, and he just hopes against all hope that Oliver is really inobservant.

There's a keypad on the door, one of those where you can insert a combination if you don't have your key. Percy finds it more useful than he expected to when he moved in; this way he doesn't have to make several dozen copies of the key when his mother inevitably replaces hers again and again.

Oliver lowers the bag that contains the pamphlets, pain relievers, and contact numbers onto the ground and reaches for the keypad.

"What's the combination?" he asks, and shrugs uncomfortably when Percy stares at him. "Your arm's broken, whenever I try to use my left hand it—"

He stops, because Percy's neatly entered the combination, turned the handle, and is now holding the door open for him expectantly.

"You're left-handed?" Oliver asks, tone turning indignant even as he picks up the bag and enters the tiny flat.

Percy nods. "Yeah. Why would you think I wasn't?"

"But then—I've been carrying these for you for forty minutes!"

"Oh," Percy says. "I was wondering about that."

It does explain why Oliver's been holding all those doors open for him. Percy thought it was because of the potentially traumatizing aspect of the crash, but this does make more sense. At least this way he won't have to ask Oliver to stop, because being waited on hand and foot was getting annoying.

Oliver is still sputtering when Percy grabs a notebook and pen from where he keeps them in a kitchen drawer and hands them both to Oliver, who stares at them as though they are highly volatile explosives.

"What are these for?"

"Your contact details." Percy doesn't say "obviously", but he's thinking it. "So you can help me find my car."

"Oh."

Oliver scribbles down the information, and Percy tries not to cheer, because it may have taken him a car accident to get there, but he actually got a hot guy's number!

"Text me when you get your phone working again, alright?" Oliver asks, turning back toward the door.

"Yeah," Percy says as Oliver steps outside, "I will."


End file.
